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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788779">control</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1'>novoaa1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(in neither yours nor harley's case), Choking, Dark Harleen Quinzel, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/F, Hair-pulling, POV reader, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harleen Quinzel, Possessive Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Roughness, Spit Kink, Vaginal Fingering, minor blood, not much specified in the way of reader's appearance, please read the tags, read. the. tags, reader is female, referenced fatal drug overdose, there's a bit of backstory given to the reader but that's explained in the beginning, unhealthy relationship dynamics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You just whimper, tears burning in your eyes. “Harley, I—”</p><p>“Say it!” she urges emphatically, then presses her forehead against yours and pleads, a little quieter this time: “I wanna hear ya say it.”</p><p>You relax incrementally at the desperation in her tone. This, you understand. This, you can work with. </p><p>“I’m yours, Harley,” you tell her, quiet and clear. (The terrifying part is, you aren’t lying.) “Just yours. No one else’s.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harleen Quinzel/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so this is another anonymous commission i got for dark!fic, this time with possessive harley and uhh... here we are</p><p>i couldn't make it totally "full non-con" dark 'cause i just love and relate to harley way too much for that but i did my best</p><p>read the tags please this is DUB-CON with dark!harley so if that's not your thing, please do not read</p><p>also the title is from halsey's song "control"</p><p> </p><p>aaand i'm currently still working on the next chapter of 'green' (my harlivy wip) if you're reading that... i had a bit of a writer's block sitch before, but i rewrote what i had and now i have a pretty good idea of what i'm gonna write (plus the semester's ending soon), so hopefully i'll be able to put in some work on that soon</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>And all the kids cried out, “Please stop, you’re scaring me”</em><br/>
<em>I can’t help this awful energy</em><br/>
<em>God damn right, you should be scared of me</em><br/>
<em>Who is in control?</em><br/>
— <em>Halsey, “Control”</em></p><p> </p><p>	Harley comes back late on a Tuesday evening—way later than usual, so late it’s already well into the wee hours of Wednesday. </p><p> </p><p>	You’re laid up in bed wearing nothing but panties and a too-big T-shirt, facedown and dead asleep besides an open laptop and an unlocked phone, lights on and takeout from Harley’s favorite Mexican place waiting for her in the fridge. </p><p> </p><p>You <em>tried</em> to stay up and wait for her; you really did. But you’d had one hell of a day running around with Connor (the 9-year-old kid you nanny-slash-tutor), then sketching out some panels for your comic book novel that should’ve been done yesterday. 7:00pm saw you dropping Cassidy (your late sister’s kid) off at her friend Jenna’s for a sleepover—a forty-minute drive one way, because Jenna lives in the butt-fuck of nowhere. </p><p> </p><p>By the time you made it back to the one-bed one-bath apartment you called home, it was all you could do to open your laptop and complete the online work for your classes instead of just face-planting on the bed and passing out until morning—forget staying up to wait on Harley when you weren’t even 100% sure she’d be coming in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>Things with you and Harley were… well, turbulent. </p><p> </p><p>It hadn’t always been that way. Just months ago, the two of you were inseparable: tearing through the streets of Gotham, wreaking havoc doing all things you shouldn’t and giving Batman one hell of a recurring headache every time you were unfortunate enough to cross his path. </p><p> </p><p>You weren’t as nuts as Harley (not by a long shot), but you weren’t exactly a paragon of mental stability, either, and the way even a glimpse of Harley’s crazed smile from afar could make your heart do backflips in your chest didn’t at all help. </p><p> </p><p>It felt perfect, the chaos. Harley had a way of making the spattered blood on your hands feel thrilling rather than bone-chilling. </p><p> </p><p>But then, things changed. Life happened. Your big sister overdosed, and her 12-year-old kid didn’t have anywhere to go, and maybe you were kind of a wreck but you damn well knew better than to let her take her chances with the foster system. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly you were 26 and unemployed with no degree and something like $10,000 to your name—not nearly enough to be taking care of the traumatized 12-year-old girl who found her mother’s lifeless corpse floating in the bathtub. </p><p> </p><p>You couldn’t—<em>wouldn’t</em>—be Harley’s girl anymore. At least, not like that. Not like before. </p><p> </p><p>She still slept over a lot of the time (most of the time), and you did your best to be there when you could. You knew it wasn’t the same. You knew she resented you for it. </p><p> </p><p>But, what else could you do? You had responsibilities—now more than ever. A 12-year-old girl with wide, blameless eyes and a truly precious gap-toothed grin relying upon <em>you</em> to supply what her late mother no longer could.</p><p> </p><p>The slam of the front door nudges you back into some hazy semblance of consciousness, and the stomping gait that follows does the rest. <em>Harley</em>. </p><p> </p><p>You peek one eye open only to shut it tightly with a groan as bright light assails your senses. Suddenly, you regret making the earlier decision to leave the lights in your bedroom on.  </p><p> </p><p>“Y/N.” Harley’s voice comes from the doorway. It isn’t loud, but it isn’t at all soft, either. “Get up.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s an unusually hard edge to her tone, and you feel something in your gut tense at the sound of it. “‘M up,” you mumble back before letting your eyelids flutter open. You don’t wince this time. “‘S late.”</p><p> </p><p>“Get <em>up</em>,” Harley demands, her voice more a growl than anything else. </p><p> </p><p>	You lift your head groggily from the pillow, squinting unseeingly up at her. “Wh—?”</p><p> </p><p>Pain explodes in the back of your skull as her hand fists your hair, forcibly yanking you up off the bed. </p><p> </p><p>If you were half-asleep before, you’re wide-awake now—scrambling frantically up onto your knees, eyes wide, back arched. A whimper leaves your mouth as Harley’s iron grip on your hair tightens. </p><p> </p><p>“H-Harley?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s blood spattered across her pale cheeks and murder in her eyes, a coldness you’ve never seen before. It’s like she isn’t even there. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re mine, Y/N,” she snarls, bringing your face close enough to feel the heat of her words against your lips. “D’ya understand me? <em>Mine</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>You just whimper, tears burning in your eyes. “Harley, I—”</p><p> </p><p>	“Say it!” she urges emphatically, then presses her forehead against yours and pleads, a little quieter this time: “I wanna hear ya say it.”</p><p> </p><p>	You relax incrementally at the desperation in her tone. This, you understand. This, you can work with. </p><p> </p><p>	“I’m yours, Harley,” you tell her, quiet and clear. (The terrifying part is, you aren’t lying.) “Just yours. No one else’s.”</p><p> </p><p>	Her fist loosens in your hair, but you don’t dare move until she withdraws it entirely. She takes a step back, silently appraises you with an inscrutable expression. If she believes you, she doesn’t let on. </p><p> </p><p>	Instead, “Take it off,” she orders flatly after a moment, then reaches forth to tug impatiently at the hem of your tee. </p><p> </p><p>	You do.</p><p> </p><p>You have to suppress a shiver from the chill as the shirt flutters to the floor and you sit back on your heels, chest bared. Your nipples tighten into stiff, turgid peaks, and you have no idea whether it’s from the well-conditioned air or Harley’s plutonic gaze. Maybe both. </p><p> </p><p>“Lie back.”</p><p> </p><p>Without a word, you do. </p><p> </p><p>Your open laptop sits on the bed just a couple inches from your shoulder, and your phone nudges the bottom of your ribcage, but you don’t dare make a move to shift them. </p><p> </p><p>Either way, it doesn’t much matter, because a second later, Harley’s looming over you. Shutting the laptop, tossing your phone aside. It clatters as it hits the floor. (You take a moment to be glad she doesn’t throw the laptop, too.)</p><p> </p><p>You worry your lower lip between your teeth as she returns, watching her carefully as she watches you. </p><p> </p><p>When she kisses you, it’s desperate—open-mouthed and filthy. All teeth and tongue, her mouth working furiously against your own.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t feel affectionate, let alone loving. Instead, it’s something bordering on cruel, savage and primal—almost as if she’s trying to consume you, body and soul. </p><p> </p><p>And you? You’re perfectly content to let her.</p><p> </p><p>You’re scared—terrified, really, but it’s <em>Harley</em>. You’re not sure you could fight her if you tried.</p><p> </p><p>Warm, calloused palms knead your breasts; a toned thigh settles between your parted legs, grinding down, down, down against the crotch of your panties until you whine.</p><p> </p><p>All of a sudden, Harley pulls back. Her left hand leaves your breast to curl loosely around your throat. Her eyes are black as she stares you down, pupils blown wide with lust, lipstick smeared every which way across kiss-swollen lips. </p><p> </p><p>She slings her thigh over yours to straddle your hips, tightens her grip around your throat and traces your parted lips with trembling fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Open,” she murmurs. </p><p> </p><p> You do. </p><p> </p><p>You keep completely still as she gathers her spit, purses her lips, then hungrily watches a heavy bead of it fall down onto your waiting tongue. </p><p> </p><p>“Swallow.”</p><p> </p><p>You do, never breaking away from her gaze. </p><p> </p><p>It’s warm. It tastes like beer and candied sugar and <em>Harley</em>, and you can’t help wanting more. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” she curses breathlessly, ducks down to crash her lips against yours, bites your lower lip until you taste copper. </p><p> </p><p>	A hand travels down your naked torso, skating between your breasts, and you arch willfully into it—wordlessly begging for more. You pay no mind to the way Harley’s grip tightens around your throat as her other hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, far too gone to care about something so trivial as breathing while her fleet-fingered touch teases closer and closer to your most sensitive place. </p><p> </p><p>	(After all, it wouldn’t be the first time one of you choked the other out during sex.)</p><p> </p><p>	But then again, nothing about this is normal. That point is only driven further home when she spends less than a second tracing a single finger through your slickened folds, entrance to clit, before abruptly slamming two of them inside you without prelude.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shit</em> !” The lewd squelch of your cunt is drowned out by a truly embarrassing whine ripped from your compressed throat, your walls pulsing and spasming wildly around the sudden intrusion. </p><p> </p><p>“Harley, slow down,” you plead as she slowly pulls out of you, the pad of her thumb teasing over your distended clit. If she hears you, she doesn't let on. “I—<em>Fuck</em> !”</p><p> </p><p>Harley’s fingers thrust ruthlessly back inside you—three of them, this time, and your body arches off the mattress like a gunshot. </p><p> </p><p>“God, you’re so <em>good</em>,” Harley groans. She sounds absolutely wrecked. (Ironic, considering you’re the one getting fucked.) “So fuckin’ <em>tight</em>.” She leans to press her sweat-damp forehead against your own, shushing you tenderly as another unforgiving thrust tears a strangled sound from your throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Harley,” you whimper, hands fisting the bedsheets at your sides. Still, you don’t dare raise a hand against her. </p><p> </p><p>Harley just smirks down at you, three fingers buried to the knuckle inside you, warm palm nudging teasingly against your clit. “Yer scared, aren’t ya?” she asks in a voice scarcely above a whisper. </p><p> </p><p>Hesitantly, you nod. It’s difficult to do with her hand around your throat, pressing into your windpipe, but you make it work.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it hurt?” Harley questions, looking down on you with wide, curious eyes. </p><p> </p><p>You nod again. “A-A little.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” Her grin widens to bare perfectly white teeth, her painted lips smeared with blood. You shiver but don’t make a single move to get away as she nudges your nose with her own, drags her tongue along your lower lip, lapping up your blood like a parched kitten. “We’re just gettin’ started.”</p><p> </p><p>— —</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>also i made a new tumblr for writing stuff @novoaa1writes cause i feel like it'll just be more organized that way, so feel free to come and talk to me about story-related stuff there! also i'll be posting some of the one-shots from here, including this one, to make them more accessible </p><p>
  <a href="https://novoaa1writes.tumblr.com/">link</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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